Restraint
by notesofwimsey
Summary: Complicated people have problematic relationships.  Stella and Flack are linked in too many ways to get loose. Rated M for adult situations and language.
1. Restraint

_A/N: This story is not suitable for younger readers. It would not have been written without a lot of pushing and encouragement from marialisa and the support and help of sallyjetson, and elainhe. Thanks to all of them._

_I choose in my stories to ignore certain facts of life, like the dangers of unprotected sex. Unless you are a fictional character, you can't afford to be so naive._

_Disclaimer: No infringement of copyright is intended. All characters originated with CSI:NY._

* * *

**Restraint**

"You're a CSI, Stella. You're not supposed to go undercover." The worry was obvious; Stella just wished she could be sure it was personal.

"Look, they need a policewoman who speaks both Greek and Italian. It may surprise you to know there are not that many of us in the department. So I volunteered. Kids, Flack. They're using kids in this operation. I have to help stop them."

With a shrug and a sigh, he stepped away from her, leaving a cold space between them. "Got everything you need?"

She nodded tightly, "Got my wits and my tongue – that's about all I'll be able to take in with me." She spread her arms, almost daring him to look at her. "It's not like this thing has pockets."

She shivered a little at the cold blue fire in his eyes. He stepped forward again, so close she could hear his heart beat. His lips brushed her forehead. "Be careful. Come back. "

She wanted to throw her arms around him and hold on tight, but she knew she couldn't. She laid a hand against his cheek briefly, then turned and walked into the dark alley, her high-heeled boots clicking, the black leather coat swirling heavily around her ankles.

He sat in seeming patience in the stakeout van, waiting for the signal. Every beat of his heart seemed to last a century; every time another officer in the van moved or coughed, his heart rate spiked into overdrive. He had never fully appreciated Messer's anxiety when Lindsay had gone in with the jewelry and the flash grenade in the Ghedi case; now he could only marvel at how calm Danny had been.

When the signal came, he was out of the van like a predator pursuing dinner, pouncing on the first three guys who came flooding out the door before they were even aware there was something on the street more dangerous than the usual petty criminals and vicious thugs: a morally outraged and incandescent Detective Flack. He strode into the warehouse, handing men over to uniformed officers, gently comforting the young girls and boys who were standing naked, eyes dead, under the bright film lights.

"Don," the voice seemed to float out of the shadows and he turned to it with relief. Stella was standing in an open doorway, beckoning him, green eyes gleaming in the gloom. He barely got a glimpse of her – high-necked leather corset which left her shoulders bare, cut high on the hip to show long legs; leather boots which rose to taut thighs. He closed his eyes and breathed in deep, schooling himself to show no reaction before she slapped him with a sexual harassment suit.

Or just slapped him.

When she led him into the office, though, he couldn't resist one quick look, and the sight of Stella Bonasera walking away from him in 5 inch fuck-me heels and a leather thong was going to haunt his fevered dreams for years to come, he knew.

It took days to work through the aftermath of the porn ring raid, and Flack only saw Stella once in that time, when he reviewed her statement to make sure all the information was accurate and jived with the evidence they had taken at the scene. Stella had answered his questions in a dry, matter-of-fact voice, until it came to talking about the children, when her voice had gone so brittle he was afraid she would just crack in front of him.

"I couldn't stop them from filming, Don." She looked at him with drowned sea green eyes. "I couldn't stop it until everything was in place."

"But then you stopped it for good, Stella. These guys will never hurt or exploit kids again. You did good, Stel. You did right." Flack's voice roughened as he thought of the risk if she had been caught. "I'm proud of you."

She nodded and left, but that night, when he was lying on his bed, eyes closed, trying in vain to banish the erotic image of her from his mind, the phone rang, and he could hear her trembling voice on the other end of the line. "Don? Can you come? I need … I need to talk."

He was knocking at her door half an hour later.

"Come in," he heard, and he stepped into the darkened hall, about to admonish her for leaving her door unlocked. Before he could open his mouth, though, a blindfold was whipped over his eyes, and his hands were secured behind his back. He opened his mouth to cry out, tensed his body to fight back; then he felt soft hands on his face, smelled the intoxicating scent of leather and aroused woman surrounding him, felt a whisper across his ear, "Don't struggle. It will only stop if you do."

He stilled instantly.

He was led, stumbling a little, into another room. He could smell candles burning, and hear classical music playing, something quiet by Bach, he thought. His hands were untied, but only so that his clothes could be removed. He stood silent, acquiescent, in the middle of the room, waiting to be told what to do next. Whatever game she was playing, he was willing to participate in, up to a point at least.

Hands ran over his body from hips to shoulders, pushing him gently towards the bed, positioning him in the centre. He could feel soft ties around his wrists and ankles, spread-eagling him across cool silky sheets. He struggled for a moment, feeling panic welling up in him. A hand ran over his face; a soft voice whispered in his ear, "Hush now. Trust me." Her mouth, wet and hot, trailed from his temple to his lips, and she parted his mouth with a quick thrust of her tongue before following his jaw line to his exposed throat.

He moaned when her teeth caught him just under the ear, and could feel his body respond almost violently, struggling against the bonds, his toes curling with need. He wanted more – he wanted everything.

She took her time, her hands exploring him slowly, tendrils of hair trailing over him as she touched kisses or tongue or teeth unexpectedly on his quivering skin. He tensed his arms again, wanting to break out and hold her, force her to his will, but he knew that the game she was playing was deadly serious at the moment. For whatever reason, she needed to direct this little act.

"You want to see, don't you?" Her voice was deep with passion. He nodded, biting his lip. "I'll take the blindfold off, but you have to promise not to look until I tell you to. Do you promise?"

He nodded again, and sighed with relief when the cloth over his eyes was removed. He kept his promise though, struggling to keep his eyes closed.

He could feel the bed moving under him as Stella shifted her weight, could feel the cool sheets under his body heat up. He could hear the music pitched low enough to not be obtrusive, high enough to obscure most sounds they might make. He could smell the candles burning, with an underlying scent of something spicy and enticing that he fervently hoped was not Stella's usual perfume; he'd never been able to work with her again with that smell in his head.

"Open your eyes." The words were soft, but the air of command had not softened at all.

Don opened his eyes and lost his breath. His fantasies had been feeble in comparison to the vision standing over him on the bed. She balanced easily in the boots that he had drooled over, five inches of heel which thrust her hips forward and defined her ass; black leather which clung to her calves and ended half way up her thighs. The leather corset laced up tightly over her belly, but strained to contain shapely breasts, ending just at the hollow of her throat. Her shoulders and arms were bare, showing off the definition of well-toned muscles. The hair he longed to bury his face in was tied up in a coronet on top of her head, adding to her imposing height.

The thong that had figured heavily in his fantasies was missing this time, and he couldn't honestly say he was sorry.

He had seen this woman chase down hopped-up drug dealers, seen her strip down a machine gun, seen her cry at a chick flick, and go goo-goo eyed over a baby. He knew she was complex and intense and infinitely desirable. Now, however, she was a goddess, and he was prepared to fall at her leather-encased feet and worship her forever.

Something of that must have shown in his eyes, because Stella positively purred before placing one foot on his chest, considerately keeping her weight forward on the ball of her foot, cocking one hip and leaning forward slightly. "So, are you prepared to do as you are told?" Her eyes were glued to his, noticing and dismissing the gleam of frustration.

"Yes," he muttered.

"No matter what I tell you to do?" She pushed a little, putting a little more weight on him.

"Yes," he growled.

"Even if I tell you to leave? Now? Leave and never speak of this again?" Her eyes were clouded now, and Flack could hear the uncertainty under her bravado.

"If you told me to go, I would go." He said it softly, with as much sincerity as he could.

Something in her softened and broke. She moved her foot off his chest, and kneeled over him, hands on his upper arms with enough weight to make him grimace in pain, fitting her body intimately against him. He was so aroused he couldn't take in a deep breath, and when she sat back, he moaned. "Stella."

She shook her head, biting her lip in concentration. "Don't say anything."

He had to close his eyes and concentrate on just pulling air into his lungs. He could feel her, hot and wet, centred over his hips, pushing against his erection as he swelled painfully. She was completely motionless, and he groaned in agonized frustration, trying to arch against her, force her to move on him, take him into her inviting body and drown him in pleasure.

"Stop. Stay still." Her voice was cold and eerily calm. She bent forward again and blew out the candles near the bed, leaving them in near darkness. He groaned again when she settled back with a sigh and put her head back in defeat.

"I'm sorry." The words whispered out over laboured breath. "I can't do this."

Flack twisted first one hand, then the other, out of the ties, and sat up, taking her in his arms, smiling into her wide, surprised eyes as he covered her trembling mouth with his in a soft kiss. "Then we'll do this."

Stella resisted for a moment, but his mouth was warm and sweet and undemanding, and with a sigh that shook her body, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, feeling the cold anger that had fueled her the past weeks begin to melt under his patient onslaught, until she relaxed into his embrace.

With a upsurging of elated pleasure, Flack sank deeper into her mouth, tasting her surrender and turning it into a sharing of passion. Stella reached back and released the fabric around his ankles, allowing him the freedom to move. He took the opportunity to stretch strained muscles while he pushed Stella away a few inches from his body. Ignoring her confused look, he began to unlace the leather that encased her body, frowning in concentration as he exposed the soft skin beneath now marked with angry welts from the tight garment.

Slowly, his lips trailed over the bruises, first laving them with his tongue, then kissing them gently as he persuaded her to lie back, until she was naked and writhing under his ministrations. He took his time, drugging her with kisses, lavishing her with attention; finally she was flushed and begging him to take her. He was braced over her, his arms shaking with the strain of trying to keep his weight off her, and looked deep into her eyes before abruptly shaking his head and rolling over to lie beside her.

She lay on her back, aroused, unsatisfied, and confused. "What are you doing?" She sat up to look down at his strained and serious face.

"Stella, you don't have to do this." He gestured at the bedroom. "You don't have to do anything. Don't you know you only have to be you for me to want you?'

Stella flushed again, and looked down, discomfited, at her linked fingers. "It wasn't for you," she confessed. "It was for me – I needed to feel in control, to feel powerful. I thought …" her voice faded in embarrassment, and she started to move off the bed.

Flack grabbed her arm, and pulled her over his body. "You don't need to tie me up to have me in knots, Stella." He cupped her face in his hands and pulled her close for another kiss, his hands running lovingly down her back, pressing her naked body closer to his.

She moaned into his mouth, and this time when she moved, it was to sheathe him inside her creamy core, taking him in with a gasp that shook through her body.

She raised her body up to drive him deeper, and he groaned as he felt her hunger swallow him whole. He reached between their bodies, and as soon as he touched her, he felt the passion surge through them, pushing them to heights he had never imagined. He arched into her, his release thrilling through his body as she convulsed around him.

They lay in the darkened room, bodies slick with sweat, lungs gasping to draw air back into bodies that had become so focused on satisfying the urge to give as well as take that they had nearly forgotten how to function normally. Stella was sprawled across his chest; his hand was entangled in the curls he had liberated.

"I'm sorry, Don." The words dragged out of her as she fought the exhaustion that was coaxing her towards sleep.

Flack sighed. "Go to sleep, Stel. We'll talk about it in the morning."

"I promised not to do this to you any more, though." Her voice was heavy with self-recrimination, blurred with fatigue.

He rubbed a hand comfortingly down her back, reaching for the duvet that had been pushed onto the floor beside the bed. "Don't worry, Stel."

Only when he was certain she was deeply asleep, did he kiss her on the temple. "I love you, Stella Bonasera." The words came out in a fierce whisper, and he felt his heart shred.


	2. Unbound

_A/N: This story continues to not be suitable for younger readers. Thanks to the wenches for all their support and help. _

_Disclaimer: No infringement of copyright is intended. All characters originated with CSI:NY._

* * *

**Unbound**

Stella walked down the street, her usual free stride not slowed at all by the high-heeled ankle boots she was wearing, her long leather coat snapping around her legs. She breathed in the busy turmoil of downtown with a smile. The sun was shining; the cabbies were swearing; someone down the street had hip-hop blaring from a ghetto blaster, and a group of kids were dancing. She could smell hot dogs and popcorn and ice cream and the exhaust from a thousand frustrated drivers. This was her world and she loved it.

They had wrapped a case the day before: yet another restaurant killing. This time it was a dishwasher whose girl had been grabbed at once too often by the head chef. Never mess with a man who washed sharp knives for a living. Stella shook her head; the scene had been gruesome, but straightforward. She had finished the paperwork and was enjoying a few precious moments of shopping and freedom before going in for her next shift.

Springtime in New York, and everywhere she looked, flowers were blooming and lovers were spooning. On a bench near the park sat an old couple hand in hand, watching the world go by in complete harmony with each other. Across the street a young couple stood in a bus stop, so entwined around each other it was hard to tell where he started and she finished. Stella smothered a giggle as the bus pulled in, waited a moment, then drove away without the oblivious pair, the driver gesturing and talking to himself in disgust.

In the play park on the swing was a tiny girl dressed in designer sneakers with ribbons in her hair, and two young men taking turns pushing her, trading kisses with her and each other as they called out encouragement and nonsensical endearments. The park was filled with couples and babies and couples and toddlers and couples and preschoolers, and Stella turned away to window shop at her favourite shoe store.

As she did, she saw yet another couple, a young girl barely out of her teens with smooth blonde hair, turned out like a run-way model, holding onto a tall dark man who was grinning as he bent his head to kiss her laughing mouth. The kiss quickly turned passionate, and Stella's heart stuttered as she recognized him: she knew how those lips would taste against hers, knew how he could move from teasing banter to searing intensity with the flip of a switch. A switch she had been pretty good at flipping when she had a mind to.

She ducked around the corner and stood for a minute, breathing hard as if she had been running.

…………

Hawkes was talking as he poured his fourth cup of coffee that shift. "So where did you meet this one?"

Stella stopped outside the break room when she heard Flack answer calmly, "She just started in the secretarial pool at the precinct. She locked her keys in her car on her first day…"

"And you rescued her? The old white knight act?" Hawkes teased.

Stella could almost see Flack's shrug.

"Well, she's awfully pretty, Flack, but she seems a little … I don't know …"

"Vacant? Vacuous? A conversationalist with severe limitations?" It was Danny interrupting, and Stella turned back to a nearby desk, pretending to search it for something.

"She says everything I need to hear right now," was the answer. Most men would have said it with a smirk or a sly innuendo; Flack just sounded tired.

Stella watched Hawkes tip his cup to Flack as he walked out the door saying, "I'll let you know when the results are in, okay?"

Flack nodded, then turned coolly to Danny. Stella could hear the ice in his voice from the common area she was standing in. "You got something to say?"

Danny held out his hands in defense, "Hey man, I'm sure you know what you're doing. It's just … I thought you and Stella …" He licked his lips and looked at Flack's impassive face.

"Even fun and games come to an end. Time to move on, Danno."

"Okay. Whatever you say."

Stella walked blindly down the hall as Flack turned his back on his best friend and left the room. When she glanced over her shoulder, she could see Danny staring pensively into his bottle of water, as if waiting for it to tell him something, then opening his cell phone and hitting speed dial.

…………

"Stel. Stella? You okay?" She felt a hand on her shoulder, and roused to see Lindsay standing over her, looking worried.

"Yeah. Fine. What did you need, Linds?" She smiled, trying not to be too obviously dismissive.

The younger woman stepped back, a little flustered. "Umm, nothing. You just looked …" She faltered, her hand dropping unconsciously to her own abdomen, rubbing it gently.

"I'm fine. You sure you don't need something? Because I should probably get this to the lab." Stella picked up a report off her desk at random, and Lindsay's eyes flickered from it to her face knowingly. Stella moved towards the door meaningfully.

"So Flack has a new girlfriend?" Lindsay blurted out, flushing a little as Stella turned around with an arched eyebrow.

"So I've heard."

"She works at the precinct. We met her this morning. She's a bit … plastic," Lindsay fumbled over the words, put off by Stella's coolly amused look.

"Whatever turns him on. Perky young tits and a tight ass works for most men." She glanced at the file she was holding in her hand, and realized it was her expense vouchers for the next quarterly report. No wonder Lindsay had looked at her strangely, she thought wryly. Now if she had just said she was taking it to Mac, she might have gotten away with it.

"I thought you and Flack were …" Lindsay stepped back when Stella caught her gaze, her green eyes blazing.

Her voice, however, remained calm. "Friends with benefits? Yeah, we had some fun – a little swing-from-the-chandelier sex-on-call. That's all it was," she lied with a pleasant smile; then she went on flippantly, "Just because you and Danny are all lovey-dovey and broody, Lindsay, doesn't mean the whole world wants to be tied down."

She tried to smile to soften the blow, but could tell she had not quite managed it by the way Lindsay's arms came protectively over her belly. Only four months along, no one would notice the slight swelling if Lindsay herself were not so self-conscious about it.

Or if Danny could keep his hands off her in public, Stella thought with a spurt of dry amusement, coloured, she suspected, by a large dollop of envy.

"I have to talk to Mac. Catch you later." She walked away quickly, knowing she had hurt the younger woman, but not able to think any further than the look on Flack's face when he had been holding the young woman in his arms.

She walked into the nearest restroom, and stared into the mirror.

…………

The early days of March, sweet as daffodils in a gentle breeze, had turned mere weeks later into the screaming storms typical of an East Coast spring. Stella ran into the building, shaking the rain from her bright hair which curled riotously around her face, and nearly walked into a couple holding hands as they parted in different directions.

Startled, she looked up into blue eyes that cooled from affectionate laughter to professional distance so fast it was like another blast from the rain-laden wind that had driven her inside.

"Sorry, Flack, I didn't see you."

"No problem. Stella, this is Kandi Kellow. Kandi, meet Detective Stella Bonasera." He performed the introduction punctiliously.

"Wow. You're a detective too? That must be like so totally interesting." The young woman's baby blue eyes were so wide, her smile so blindingly white, Stella thought for a moment she was putting on an act, but a second look convinced her that Kandi was as genuine as a vintage 1950s Barbie doll.

"I'm a CSI, actually." Stella put her hand out to shake Kandi's hand. Small, delicate, with perfectly manicured nails painted in the same colour of bubble-gum pink as her shoes.

"Oh, don't tell me, don't tell me; that means Crime Scene Investigator, right?"

That giggle might get wearing, Stella reflected.

"There are just so many things to remember! But Donnie has been so great, helping me out and all." She wrapped her arms around Flack's waist, rubbing her head against his chest, staring Stella in the eyes as she did.

Stella raised an eyebrow at the territorial movement, but merely smiled and said, "I'm sure he has been." She couldn't resist adding in a neutral tone, "I've always found him very accommodating. It was nice to meet you, Kandi."

She stood at the elevator, impatiently begging for it to arrive and carry her away before the couple behind her finished their protracted goodbyes.

"But if I had any luck at all, it would be bad," she thought to herself as Flack stood beside her, courteously motioning her into the elevator car before him, then automatically pushing the button for the lab floor.

Instinctively, she reached forward and pushed the button for the eighteenth floor, three lower than the newly refurbished lab. He raised an eyebrow; the only offices on that floor belonged to the brass, and she would normally have sold her soul or her Jimmy Choos rather than show up on that floor voluntarily. He said nothing, though, just leaned back against the wall of the slow moving car, and yawned, covering his mouth with the hand closest to her.

"Rough night?" She could have bitten out her own tongue. Talk about a set up.

He nodded wearily though. "You'll have the report on your desk. Messer and Hawkes caught a big one – ugly too. Domestic that took out a mother and kid – father burned down the house with them all in it. Lost a fireman in the blaze. NYFD's going ballistic."

She turned and looked at him, seeing the disillusionment and pain that struggled to overwhelm him on a daily basis, which he fought back with decency and determination. Feeble weapons at best.

"I'm sorry." She stretched out a hand to him, but dropped it uncomfortably as a whiff of Kandi's overly sweet perfume reached her.

Losing a fellow officer was always difficult, but it was the kids that tore at the soul, she thought, her heart flashing back to the child porn ring they had busted a few months ago.

And how she had dealt with the pain that time.

"Your girl is nice."

"She is."

"She's very young."

"Eight years younger than me. It's not so much," he said neutrally, with a hint of a sigh.

She shrugged uneasily. They had had that conversation before.

She stood silent as the elevator rose slowly. They had always talked easily and freely, she thought morosely. Now there were too many silences between them.

The elevator indicator lit up number 17, and Stella shifted her weight from foot to foot.

"She's nice." What else was there to say? She couldn't look at him.

His voice sank into the void between them, "I can't live tied up in knots any more, Stella. I have to get free. Even if it means leaving a piece of myself behind." His voice was so contained another person might have missed the underlying fury.

She took in a deep breath and moved to the doors as the elevator slowed to a stop. "She'll never be me."

For days, and long endless nights, she would regret that surge of jealousy, that impulse to wound.

She left him in the empty elevator, his eyes closed, his hands clenched so tightly they ached for days.


	3. Force

_A/N: Again, this story not is suitable for younger readers. Thanks to all who are reading and to my reviewers; I appreciate all the responses._

_This series is set in the same universe as my "Wedding" series, and follows "I Do" chronologically._

_Disclaimer: No infringement of copyright is intended. All characters originated with CSI:NY._

* * *

**Force**

Flack slammed the door behind him, threw his keys on the table, and then, picking them up again, hurled them with deadly accuracy at a picture on the wall, smashing the glass.

He strode into the kitchen, flung open the fridge and grabbed a beer from the door. He started to close it, then grabbed a second bottle as well. Twisting off a cap, he took a long swallow, then loosened his tie, pulling it off and throwing it across the room with the jacket that had been stifling him all day. New York had decided an early hot spell would keep things interesting, and as the heat rose, so did the crime rate.

"And it's only May," he thought wearily, finishing off the first bottle and opening the next. He sat down heavily at the small table covered in take out menus and half-eaten food; this was the first night he had been home before midnight in two weeks.

Idly, he pushed through the top layer of menus and take out cartons to look for something which might entice his failing appetite. After today, he may never eat again, he thought, his gorge rising at images from not one, but three crime scenes challenging his notoriously tricky stomach. "A crispy critter in a car, a steamed stiff in a dumpster, and then a three course barbeque in a garage," he thought, his head in his hands. "Vegetarian tonight."

He dug down to menus from months ago, ones for restaurants he could barely remember, and his heart stilled when he turned over one written in Japanese to find Stella's distinctive writing across it. "# 57. #31." He looked at the address: just around the corner. Well, that was what the gods had thrown into his lap. Might as well follow the rolling golden apple, he thought wryly.

As he placed the order over the phone, he stripped off the rest of the clothes that had been sticking to him since the sun rose that morning and finished his second beer before walking into the shower and standing absolutely still until the water cooled to match the chill he had carried inside him for so long he could barely remember a time when memories didn't hurt. Once he had achieved some sort of tenuous balance, he toweled off vigorously, pulling on shorts and a t-shirt that had seen better days before he left high school. Hair still damp and tousled, looking younger than his thirty years, he shoved bare feet into ratty old sneakers and took off down the stairs as if demons could be out-run.

The young woman who had taken his order had told him in heavily accented English that it would be at least forty minutes until his dinner was ready, but he couldn't sit still in his un-air-conditioned apartment. Checking his watch, he decided to walk as far as he could for ten minutes in one direction, and then double back to the restaurant.

Hands thrust into his pockets, he started off at a quick pace, but soon slowed down, meandering a bit as he got closer to the ten minute mark. He had already done his run that morning, and a thirty minute workout at the precinct gym, not that either had helped dispel the funk he was in. Aside from work sucking big time, life in general had been a challenge, he reflected, for months now.

Since Stella had gone undercover. He knew that was the dividing line, the border between okay and screwed up. If he could have just held himself together that day, like he had for weeks before that, months even, things would have stayed on track.

Images of the wedding night filled him for the hundredth time that day, when Stella and he had benefited from the Messers' unused honeymoon suite. Benefited four times, as he recalled, a feat he had not matched since he was a horny 17 year old and had to make up for what he lacked in finesse with recuperative power and enthusiasm. He could feel his cock twitch just thinking about that night. Nothing in his life had prepared him for a Stella Bonasera. It wasn't enough that she was beautiful and smart and strong. She was a lifetime of fantasy women rolled into one.

He hunched over, shoving his hands a little further into his pockets. He tried not to think about that night because inevitably it led to memories of other nights: fuckbuddy hookups at her place, at his place, once in a park, once in a parked car on the way back from a scene. He wasn't proud of it, but he was a guy; he couldn't help being aroused by it. The hunger he had walked out with was swiftly being replaced by a hunger that was not getting much relief these days since he had broken things off with Kandi.

Danny and Lindsay had never given poor Kandi a chance, freezing her out so delicately she had barely felt the incipient hypothermia. Hawkes had been polite, but he had intimidated her just by asking her what she did all day at the precinct. Stella had stopped going out with the team as soon as Kandi had appeared on the scene, and pretty quickly it had been just Kandi and him. He had to admit, although she had a talented tongue and gifted mouth, she was more apt to use them for talking than anything useful.

And she was boring. Flack shuddered as he thought back to night after night of clubbing with Kandi and her friends. Little Kandi with her vast knowledge of pop stars and fashion was undeniably the brightest spark in that box of matches. His hand and a little soap was a better companion than that. There was a fine line between 'uncomplicated' and 'simple'.

He'd never thought he would miss conversations about de-comp and TOD. Never thought topics like that could be foreplay.

So he had let Kandi down easy, handing her off to a rookie cop closer to her age and IQ, and still got a high five and far too much information from young Daniels when they crossed paths. He had taken to avoiding the 15th Precinct at all costs.

Flack checked his watch again and decided to turn back even though he still had three of his ten minutes left. "And stop thinking about Stella," he ordered himself firmly.

Because everything came back to Stella. He had screwed that up big time. All he had to do was keep his mouth shut, let his lady have her way, and reap the benefits. And instead of simply saluting her creativity and thanking the gods of combustible sex everywhere, he had had to take a stand. He had to fuck the whole thing up.

He scowled at a young couple sitting in a bus shelter swapping spit and linking tongue piercings. The boy had his hand up the girl's shirt, and she was moaning and giggling. If Flack had brought his badge with him, he'd have rousted them for disturbing the peace.

They were certainly disturbing his peace, anyway.

He turned into the restaurant still a few minutes early, just in time to hear "Order for Bonasera, phone number 555-1234, a number 57 and 31."

He stepped towards the counter to correct the name and take the two paper bags full of tantalizing food when a woman already at the counter picked one up and turned towards him.

"Shit."

Her startled green eyes struck him to the heart, bringing memories flooding back. He looked down at his feet, wincing at the image he must present. He had seen the man she'd been dressing up for the past month: a distinguished diplomatic type with salt and pepper hair and Italian suits who took her to the symphony and the opera. Flack was wearing the same clothes he had worn in high school, literally in the case of the varsity b-ball shirt he was wearing, with St Andrew's emblazoned across the chest.

He stepped past her to the counter as she grabbed the other bag, and said, "Do you have another order? Same phone number - that's my phone number. Name is Flack, number 57, number 31? I called it in," he looked at his watch, "40 minutes ago?"

"Yes, yes, number 57, number 31, for 555-1234. That right? Lady has bags, sir." The young girl behind the counter beamed at him, frowning in dismay when he shook his head.

"No. No. Another order. A different order," he started, but it was obvious from the girl's rapidly disintegrating confidence that she had either got the order wrong, or could not understand him, or both.

"Great. Well, today just got so much better," he muttered under his breath as he turned to leave, nodding brusquely at Stella, who was standing with cash in her hand ready to pay for her dinner. There was a 7-11 down the street; another night of microwaved burritos and nachos with melted cheese crap probably wouldn't kill him.

He was nearly at the door when a hesitant hand touched his arm.

"Don?"

Reluctantly he turned to face her.

"Did I take your dinner?"

"Don't worry about it – not your problem. I'll just grab something else." He smiled briefly and opened the door.

"Oh, this is bloody ridiculous." Her voice was reassuringly irritated. "Do you have beer at your place?"

He stopped dead. "Yes."

"Then if you'll give me a beer, I'll share the sushi with you. The tempura you'll have to fight me for, though."

He didn't move for a minute, just stood in the doorway.

She went on impatiently, "Come on, Flack. We used to be able to do this, you know. Just hang out like friends."

He could feel the words fighting their way up his throat, sitting on the back of his tongue like the bitter pills his father used to make him swallow whole.

Then she laid her hand on his back and said quietly, "Please?"

They walked in silence to his apartment, each carrying one bag of food. When they came through his door, he stopped her with a hand and said gruffly, "Wait here a sec, 'kay?"

Quickly he crunched through the glass spread over the floor, and swept it up, grabbing clothes and tossing them into the bedroom.

He went back to the door to where Stella was standing reasonably patiently. "C'm in." He knew he sounded less than gracious, but damn it all. The world just seemed to be determined to hold him here, right here with a knife at his throat.

Stella walked in as if she owned the place, a trait he had always admired in her, but which he knew actually came from living in foster care homes in her youth. "If you didn't act like it was home from the get-go, they soon got rid of you," she had explained to him once when they had a case involved abuse at a foster home. She ignored the table in the eating nook, going straight to the couch and pulling containers out of the paper bags, setting them out on the coffee table before breaking her chopsticks apart and rubbing the ends together to get rid of any splinters.

She looked up to see Flack leaning on the doorway, watching her with guarded blue eyes. "What?"

He shrugged and said mildly, "I'm wondering why you're here." He wasn't going to be able to stomach any food anyway, he knew, so he might as well get the worst of it over with at once.

"Do you have any beer or not?" She grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, clicking through the channels while he went into the kitchen and grabbed two bottles. If she jumped when he slammed the fridge door, there was no sign of it when he came back in. She had found the baseball game on TSN and had the sound down low, but loud enough for him to follow the action. He handed her a beer.

She twisted off the cap and took a long swallow, and Flack nearly choked on the swig he had just taken when she wrapped her lips around the neck of the bottle. Then she grabbed one of the bento boxes and expertly fished a tuna sashimi out. "Come on. Sit and eat, and tell me about the Porter case."

He sat and glanced into the other bento box, sighing when he saw that there was more tuna than salmon. He could just about stomach the salmon, but raw tuna never sat well. He grabbed an avocado roll, too impatient for chopsticks.

Stella slowly managed to coax some stories out of Flack, and some food into him. Wrapped up in talking about the worst case of the day, or yelling at an umpire's bad call, he didn't even notice when she swapped all his tuna pieces for her salmon.

The food was finished, the empty containers cleaned up, and Flack was beginning to drift off as the game wound down. Stella stood up, and went down the hall, looking around as she went. Other than the dining table, the apartment was painfully clean, as if he was never in long enough to mess it up. There was nothing in the fridge but beer and a jug of water; she had checked when she had taken the empty containers and bottles in. The bathroom was messy, at least.

She stood at the bedroom door, not going in, just silently observing. The bed was unmade, and clothes were lying as they had been thrown, some from the door, she could tell, probably what he had been cleaning up when he made her wait. She had noticed the broken glass in the hall; she wondered if it were coincidence that the destroyed picture was one of Flack receiving his Purple Shield and a commendation from the Commissioner. She knew that in the background, the team was lined up in dress blues, on parade. She had been standing next to Mac.

She had the same photo in her bedroom.

She leaned against the doorframe. The room smelled dusty and stale, and she longed to open the windows to bring some fresh air in, but didn't dare. She'd given up the right not once, but over and over. Even being here now was wrong and unfair.

She walked back to the living room, where Don had fallen asleep on the couch. He was breathing slowly, face relaxed under disheveled hair. He looked young, even younger than his actual age, and she realized with a bit of a shock that he had started to look old at work; the responsibility his job entailed was aging him, hardening him.

She sat in a chair across the room and watched him. Memories came flooding back over the dam she had worked so hard to build: dinners snatched on the run; running jokes that lightened the hard cases and held back the nightmares; too few nights spent holding each other, drowning out the victim's cries and the monsters' excuses. It had all worked; it had all been okay, until that one night after they broke the child-porn ring when she changed everything.

Again.

It was all supposed to be a game, she thought, examining him as if he were under a microscope. A little somethin'-somethin' between friends: no strings, no expectations. She'd done it before, successfully, stayed friends with two guys from college and one of the sergeants from her days in Narcotics. She knew it could work out fine. So why had it all come crashing down with Flack, with a guy she really cared about? Why had it left them here, in this place, with poorly mended hearts and broken glass?

She shivered as her treacherous body went back to that night, a night that coloured her every fantasy. She had liked the control at first, enjoyed the sensation over someone like Flack, a man who wore power slicked over his skin like sweat. She had loved feeling his body tense under hers, struggling to subdue his own needs to her desires.

But she had lost focus when she looked into his eyes, when she saw lust and desire drown in a wave of love. He loved her, and she was using him. She knew it, and so did he, and she knew she had to stop.

After that night, she had stopped answering his phone calls and had him re-assigned to other CSIs on the job. When that became too difficult, she had gone to Miami for a week of sun and sand and uncomplicated sex with any attractive man she could find.

So she hadn't found anyone who turned her on. It happens, she tried to convince herself, even on the beaches of Florida. She had slept with Horatio Caine for old times' sake; he was still in shock over the death of his young wife Marisol.

She shrugged away the memory of a pity fuck gone horribly wrong. At least they had been able to stay friendly.

Flack muttered in his sleep, head turning restlessly. Stella shrank back into the easy chair. She should go.

But somehow she felt powerless to leave. She had screwed this up, and left them both in this weird frozen state: not able to go back, not able to move on. She knew he had broken up with Kandi; Officer Daniels had been voluble in his grateful disbelief. She hadn't been with anyone since that disastrous attempt with Horatio; the man who took her to concerts she couldn't otherwise afford liked a pretty woman on his arm and a young man in his bed.

She slowed her breathing to match his. They were both lost and searching for a way out and she needed to do more than just sit under a tree and wait for the birds to cover her up with leaves.

Flack shifted on the couch, and began to snore.

Loudly.

So loudly he woke himself up with a start, making Stella jump in her shadowed corner.

He sat up, hunched over with his elbows on his knees. "You still here?"

She nodded.

"Why?"

"I wanted to make sure you were okay."

He stood up and stretched restlessly. "The day three beers and raw fish take me down is the day I'm in a box." He began to prowl around the room, picking things up and moving them aimlessly.

"Are you okay?"

"No." The answer was so quiet she nearly missed it, but she couldn't miss the book that flew past her to hit the wall with a stunning force.

"What the hell do you want from me, Stel? Why did you have to show up tonight? Tonight of all fucking nights. Danny and Lindsay all over each other everywhere I look today."

He glared at her with something akin to hatred.

She grimaced. Three hundred and sixty-five days equaled two anniversaries.

Her silence fueled his rage. "Every time I think I'm over this – I think I'm past it all – you crook your finger and I come running. Do you like that? Is that why you do it? You get bored and decide to take GI Don out of his box to play with a little more?" Shaking with fury, the words poured out of him in a steady caustic stream.

Stella shrank further into the chair, hands clenched tight on the arms, but otherwise motionless.

"I guess it isn't all your fault, is it? I could stop. Just walk away and stop sitting there waiting for you to come pick me up. But it doesn't matter what I do. Everything begins and ends with you."

He sat down suddenly, a puppet whose strings had been cut, all long loose limbs and no life.

They sat in a bubble of silence that stretched into eternity.

Finally Don raised his head. "I'm sorry." The words were dull. "I didn't mean to frighten you. Christ, I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "You didn't."

Her hands did not loosen from the arms of the chair though.

"Christ." His voice was filled with self-loathing now, and he was back on his feet and moving fast. She had to turn her head to watch him. "I'm as bad as Mala. Worse, because I know what he did to you. Get out, Stel. Leave now. I can't be responsible for what I may do."

Stella shook her head again, but did not move.

"Why are you here? Do you want to talk? Fine. Talk. Let me down easy this time. Or are you just going to disappear again, cut me out of your life? Leave me sitting in a shit pile not knowing what I did wrong or where I fucked up? Because I know I fucked up. I just don't know how."

She sat, silent, tongue-tied, scraped raw by his agony. In spite of the heat, she was shivering.

"Are you here for a fuck? Is that it? Gentlemen, start your engines? 'Cause you know you got me." He held his arms out wide, his eyes burning and wild. "Stud-on-call. All you have to do is look at me and I'm good to go. I told you, you never needed to tie me down. I'll perform on command like any other dog. You're still holding the leash, lady."

He was on his knees now in front of her, wrung out, torn apart, hands resting on the chair, head bowed.

Stella unclenched her hands slowly. They ached and she struggled to lift them. She buried them in his hair, feeling him warm and vital under her bloodless fingers, bending to rest her forehead on his.

He knelt, passive and drained, until he felt her tears on his face, and he broke, his arms wrapping around her desperately.


	4. Release

_A/N: This story is definitely not suitable for younger readers. It owes whatever merit it has to the support and encouragement of marialisa, sallyjetson, and elainhe, as well as my generous reviewers and readers._

_One more time, please remember that I choose in my stories to ignore certain facts of life, like the dangers of unprotected sex. Unless you are a fictional character, you can't afford to be so naive. Love is not protection._

_Disclaimer: No infringement of copyright is intended. All characters originated with CSI:NY._

* * *

**Release**

Stella slid out of the chair, fitting her body against Don's, hiding her face in the crook of his neck, her hands still stroking through his hair. He could feel her tears against his skin, soaking through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, could feel the sobs wracking her body.

He had made her cry. He had made Stella cry.

"No. Don't do that. Stella. Don't cry. I'm sorry, Stella, I didn't mean to…" his voice gave out in despair as he pushed her hair out of her face, trying to coax her to look at him.

She reached up and put a hand over his mouth, then whispered fiercely in his ear, "Don't apologize. Not ever. This was all me."

She sat back a little and looked into blue eyes blurred with pain and regret and a little fear. Placing her hands on either side of his face, she spoke slowly through the tears that ran down her cheeks. "I was so afraid, Don. I was so afraid to trust you – to trust myself with you."

She shook her head impatiently as he opened his mouth to speak. "You said you were like Frankie – worse than Frankie. You could never be like him. But if you feel like that, it's my fault. I pushed you away, tried to hold you in this small space in my life: friend, good for sex, nothing more." She laid her mouth softly on his head for a moment as he leaned against her, his eyes closed in misery.

"I was so wrong," she went on quietly. "You are so much more than just my friend, so much more than just sex. You are the fulcrum, Don."

He looked up, puzzled and wary. "The what?"

She smiled a little at the suspicion in his voice. "You know, the fulcrum. The thing that supports something? A revolving something?"

Don looked at her with one eyebrow lifted. "You been talking to Hammerback again?"

She snorted with laughter. "Yes, actually. It was his Word of the Day: fulcrum – the point or support around which something revolves or depends."

She brushed the hair out of his eyes tenderly. "That's you. When I read it, I saw you. I depend on you. And when I pushed you away, I broke loose." She closed her eyes for a breath. "When I was with Frankie, the job was my centre point, and he hated that. But when he … attacked me – when I killed him – you were the one I held on to, the only one who kept me steady."

She rested her forehead on his again. "You balance me. And I haven't had much experience with balance in my life." Her voice had dropped to a whisper again. "So I thought it was weakness because I couldn't stand alone. And I tried to take control," a sly smile stole over her face as he involuntarily shivered, "And I liked it for a while."

"So what went wrong? Tell me what I did wrong so I can stop, so I don't do it again," he pleaded.

"You loved me. And it wasn't wrong. It was the only right thing in my world. I just didn't know it. And I don't want you to stop. Not ever. I want you to love me as much as you can, as hard as you can. Don't stop loving me, Don, please don't."

She was crying again, tears that drowned green eyes until he could see himself in the depths. Tears that ran down the cheeks and over the lips he was kissing, murmuring soft nonsense words of love and forgiveness and passion. He could taste her sorrow and it made him hungry. He could taste her promise and it filled the place in his heart that had been achingly empty for so long.

He stood, lifting her as he did, moving towards the bedroom still kissing her. When they reached the bed, he let her down so she was standing wrapped in his arms. He buried his face in her hair and said softly, "I love you."

Her head on his shoulder, she laughed shakily, catching her breath on a sob. "I love you, too. Show me how much."

Don continued to rock her in his arms, slowly, and said again, "I love you." He waited a minute, then gave her a little shake. "Hey."

She looked up with a gleam in her eye. "Show me."

"Tell me."

"Why? Didn't you believe me the first time?"

"No. Say it again. Say it until I believe it."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his mouth, "I love you."

She kissed his chin, "I love you."

She kissed his jaw, "I love you."

She kissed the pulse beating in his throat, "I love you."

She pulled back, her hands on his chest, and looked up at him, "Do you believe me yet?"

He shook his head. "No," he said huskily, "Not yet. A few thousand more times might work."

He took her mouth with his, sliding his hands under the t-shirt she was wearing, letting his hands drift over her warm skin, cupping her breasts and licking the moan of pleasure off her lips. She pushed his worn t-shirt over his head, reveling in the play of muscles under her hands. The loose shorts he had pulled on earlier slid over lean hips, leaving him naked.

He reached over to open the window, letting the soft evening breeze in to play with Stella's hair and bring a welcome stir of air to the warm night. Stella pulled her t-shirt off, and stepped out of her shorts, her breath coming a little faster as she stood before him in the dark room, only the lights from the city outside outlining her body.

She shivered as he stepped forward, guiding her gently to the bed. He pushed back the covers and joined her in the centre, pulling her into his arms and then sighing in contentment, his cheek against her hair, her arm across his chest.

They lay in silence for several moments, hands idly stroking and exploring. "Don?" she said finally.

"Hmm?"

"What are we doing?"

"Hush. We're dreaming." His hand traced a line down her spine, and she could feel the chills flee across her body.

"What are we dreaming about?"

"You. Me. A life." He moved slowly, pushing her onto her back, his mouth tracing a complementary line from her throat to her stomach. This time heat swirled over her body, pooling deep in her belly.

"I love you," she gasped as his mouth returned to one breast, feasting on her hungrily.

He growled, "You sure?" The fingertips that had been trailing down one leg began a torturous journey back up to stop just before reaching the centre of her desire.

"I love you," she breathed out, then opened her eyes wide. "How many more times before you believe me?"

"Nine…teen…hundred…and ninety…four," he said huskily, sliding a finger into her enticing heat on each pause, then stroking her clit firmly with his thumb and grinning in satisfaction as she arched against his hand with a sharp cry.

"Keep doing that, and I'll tell you anything you want," she said, with a tight grin, eyes closed as she circled ecstasy.

He stilled and looked at her with doubt filling his blue eyes. Her eyes shot open, and she stared at him, not sure whether to smack him for being too sensitive or herself for not being sensitive enough.

She settled for running her hands behind his head, her thumbs caressing over the high cheekbones and temples of the face that lit up her dark nights, and brushing her lips over first one eye, then the other, murmuring endearments and passionate promises as she explored every feature with fingers and mouth, until he finally opened his lips under hers. She rolled him over, and began to trail her fingers down his throat and chest, following with her tongue and lips.

He moaned, and wrapped her hair around his hands, stopping her just before she reached his straining erection. "No."

She looked up, confused and a little worried. "No?"

He shook his head and pulled her back into his arms, sitting up, pulling her into his lap. "That's just sex. I want more." He covered her mouth with his again, kissing her until she melted against him.

"No more friends with benefits. I love you. I want us to be together."

She teased his mouth with her tongue, mimicking the thrust of sex, "No more of that?" she said as his eyes rolled back in his head.

"Do you love me?" His voice squeezed out through lungs paralysed with desire.

She waited until his eyes focused on hers, and nodded. There were no words big enough.

"Then we can still do that. But later!" Slowly, he laid her on the bed, covering her with his body, covering her body with kisses until she squirmed against him.

"Please, Don. Make love to me."

"With you."

Deep green eyes stared into darkened blue ones, and she nodded, "Make love with me, Don."

He took her mouth urgently, all the tenderness swept away by a wave of yearning, and slid slowly into her eager body as if he belonged there.

Stella gasped and arched sinuously against him, little breathy sighs catching in her throat. "I love you," she said when she could breathe.

He pushed deep into her, and stopped, holding most of his weight off her, propped on his elbows. She groaned with frustration. "I want it all, Stella." His voice rasped against her ear. "I want the white picket fence."

"In Queens? It'll be covered in graffiti in a week," she scoffed, trying to catch her breath.

He pulled out and eased back again, slowly enough to make her whimper. "I want the 3.2 kids and the station wagon and the dog."

She opened her eyes wide and squeaked, "3.2? Average is 2.1!"

He slid out even more slowly, waiting a moment until she shook with wanting, then thrust back faster, harder, filling her, taking her scream into his mouth. "Do I seem average to you?" He smirked at her rolled eyes, and groaned when she laughed, causing her to contract around him.

She struggled to make him move again, to drive that burning pleasure through her again. But he braced himself, and leisurely lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her so thoroughly she could feel her head spin from lack of oxygen.

He said softly, gloatingly, "Stella Bonasera, I'm going to give you a family!"

She growled, "What you are going to give me is a heart attack."

He considered that for a moment, and then nodded his head decisively. "I suppose that is possible. But what a way to go!"

He moved deeper into her, then stilled again as the bliss ran through her veins. He whispered in her ear, "How about I give you an orgasm first," he rocked inside her, "then a family," he rocked a little harder, striking her clit, "and we put off the heart attack for say … fifty years or so?"

"Damn you, move. Don, make me come." She arched against him.

He stopped again, resting his head lightly on hers. "Not yet. You haven't agreed yet."

"I definitely agree about the orgasm." She bit her lip, desperate to let go of the tension now built unbearably high.

"What about the rest?" His eyes were glowing as he looked down at her flushed face, licking the sheen of sweat off her temples with a delicate tongue.

She wasn't a trained dancer for nothing. She grinned, then slowly, deliberately tensed the muscles which were already gripping his cock deep inside her body. His eyes widened and he growled in feral arousal.

"I'm working on the orgasm first," she purred, clenching the muscles harder this time, "And maybe the white picket fence." She drew an agonized sigh from him, and grinned in triumph. Concentrating only on the sensation of his hard length buried deep in her, she contracted the muscles rhythmically, milking him until he stopped breathing. "The children, though," she started pumping, bringing herself to the edge of coming, "Are still up for negotiation."

He started to move then, rocking against her until she was writhing, then he pulled back and began to thrust to a rhythm that finally shot her into a shuddering climax. Her wild bucking against him was too much and he drove into her, losing himself as they spasmed together.

He lay shaking, his muscles nearly too drained to hold his weight off her, but unwilling to pull out of her yet. "Oh God," he breathed out in blasphemous wonder, "You are fucking amazing."

She hummed in mutual wonder, causing vibrations to run through her body and surround him. He jerked in surprise and could feel a final tremor ripple through them both.

When he finally had the strength to move, he rolled no further than he had to, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her head to his shoulder again. She lay with one thigh over his legs, smelling of sex and satisfaction. He ran his hands through her curls, content.

"Don?"

"Hmmm?"

"Happy Anniversary."

His eyes shot open, and she could feel his heartbeat, which had been slowing for the past several minutes under her cheek, speed up again.

She sighed, "I'd say let's forget the last year, and pretend that this is the same night."

"But?" he prompted quietly, dread creeping back into his voice.

She moved so she could look into his face. "We could forget all the hurt and bad times that way. But it wouldn't be real, would it? The bad times have to count for something, don't they?"

She waited until he nodded cautiously before going on. "So I don't want to wipe out the last year. I want to remember it. I want to learn from it."

Tears had filled her eyes again, and Don reached out a tentative hand to wipe them away. She grabbed his hand and kissed it.

He rolled onto his side so he was eye to eye with her. "Give me a lever and a place to stand, and I can move the world," he said.

"Archimedes." Stella nodded.

"Really? Some dead old Greek guy, right?" Don grinned as Stella laughed. She knew his 'high school drop-out' act was just that; he had a voracious appetite for strange facts and esoteric knowledge.

"Anyway," he continued, his voice dropping as he turned serious again, "You said I was your fulcrum, right?"

She nodded.

"Then you are my place to stand. And we can move the world, Stella."

She smiled temptingly, and ran her tongue over her lower lip, "If you work that fulcrum just right, you can move the world for me any time you want."

And on a wave of love and laughter, the universe re-ordered itself.


End file.
